Smiles
by fullmoon'11
Summary: Austria performs at a concert. It's what he does best, after all. One-shot based off of a sentence I heard someone say at my recent recital, "You'll feel less nervous with time", which, in my opinion, is what inexperienced people say.


"It gets easier with time!"

Austria snorted derisively at the comment. He knew how wrong the speaker was; he, as a musician, as a seasoned soloist, as an experienced pianist, still got nervous every time he stepped onstage to thunderous applause and blinding light. It wasn't something that could be gotten rid of with time; it was the instinctive fight-or-flight reaction that everyone experienced when they were placed in the spotlight. He smiled bitterly at the comment that followed, "Look at that man. He's used to it already!" The little girl stared at him.

The little girl, who looked to be no more than seven or eight, clung to her mother, her eyes filled with anxiety about her upcoming concert. She gasped as he walked up to her, her brown eyes widening with surprise at his fancy outfit.

"Mommy, mommy!" she tugged on her mother's skirt. "Look at the fancy man!"

"Oh, hello, Mr. Edelstein! How nice it is to see you again! Are you, by any chance, the guest performer tonight?" the mother (what was her name? Emma Brown or Ella Brown or something like that) replied.

"Good evening to you too," he replied with a smile. The last time he had seen these two, they had been in much the same spot.

As the mother prattled on about "how lovely it is to see you here tonight" and all that, he gazed down at the little girl. She stared back at him.

"Mommy, the man has violet eyes!" she exclaimed.

The mother shushed the girl. "She means no offense, Mr. Edelstein."

"No offense taken," he replied, shrugging it off. Everyone, at some point or another, noticed them. They were different.

"Is this your daughter's first time performing?" he asked.

"Yah!" she cried, before her mother could respond.

"Hush, Emeline," she said.

"Goodbye, Mr. Edelstein! I have to take her to her warm-up room now," the mother said.

"Bye, Mr. Violet Eyes!"

Austria chuckled at his new nickname and waved, before feeling a light tap on his shoulders. He whirled around. A pair of grey-green eyes stared up at him. He smiled.

"Hello, Elizaveta."

Behind her stood an albino, who was loudly proclaiming to the rest of the room how "awesome and amazing" he was. Austria sighed. Prussia was being his usual annoying egotistical self.

Hungary turned and followed his stare. She sighed with annoyance and dug out a large metal frying pan from who-knows-where. How did she do that, anyways?

He checked the wall clock. Good heavens, was it that time already? He hurriedly excused himself to his two friends and walked off to his rehearsal room.

The burnished wooden door looked large and menacing. He hesitated before turning the polished knob. The door creaked as he opened it, and he stepped in, looking around for the light switch. He flipped it, and stared when he saw the piano in the middle of the room.

It was a dingy, small, _six foot_ piano. It wasn't even a _Steinway_. He turned up his nose in disgust.

Austria thought longingly of his piano at home, the one that sat in his piano room. It was a perfect instrument crafted especially for him by Steinway himself when he was alive. How he wished he could have it here now… but now was now, and it wasn't here. He'd have to deal with it.

He reluctantly sat down and placed his long fingers on the ivory keys. He breathed in deeply, and began.

The first note that came out of the old, worn out piano was simply amazing. He hadn't known that such a piano existed. It was exquisite, the sound it made clear yet rich. He smiled happily at the prospect of practicing on such a lovely instrument.

Soon, all too soon, his lovely moment was spoiled as the door opened. A woman peeked in. "Mr. Edelstein?" she asked in a timid voice.

"Yes?"

"The concert is going to begin soon. Would you like to listen?"

He stood up and smiled. "Of course. Lead the way," he said.

The woman led him to a row of seats in the front. "This one is yours," she whispered.

"Thank you," he replied with a stately nod. She smiled and withdrew.

He listened as the first small child, who looked no older than four, stood up shakily and walked onstage to warm applause. She bowed rather hesitatingly before walking over to the piano bench, which was as tall as she was. She clambered up, sat down, composed herself, and began to play. It was nothing much, just a simple piece written by Clementi, but it was performed beautifully for a child of four.

The next few were rather talented individuals that he didn't really pay attention to. However, when he heard the name "Lily Zwingli", he sat up, surprise flashing through his violet eyes. He scanned the crowd, finally noting the face of his "friendly rival", Switzerland. He hadn't expected Switzerland, of all people, to accept a ticket from his rival. Much less enter his sister in tonight's performance, who was quiet but had been trained by Austria himself.

Lichtenstein stepped onstage, dressed in her usual pink smock with a ribbon in her hair. She curtseyed and sat down. Her delicate fingers trembled with agitation as she placed them on the piano keys. What followed could only be called a musical miracle. Her fingers flew over the keys, too fast to follow. Austria sat in his seat, stunned. He would have to find out how she had gotten so good, especially seeing how her brother was too stingy to hire a tutor or buy her a better piano.

The piece ended, and the hour flew by. Several more individuals performed and were greeted by lukewarm bouts of applause. He heard everything from Bach to Prokofiev, yet none sounded as good as Lichtenstein's or the little girl's performances. Their pieces, though more simplistic, had _soul_. They could feel the music, unlike the other performers who focused more on complicated techniques and less on emotions. Their ability to feel the music set them at a level higher than the others who sought to impress the audience with their amazing finger work.

Intermission came, and he reluctantly got to his feet. He walked over to Lichtenstein, who was being guarded by her fiercely overprotective brother. Nearby, Prussia was being beaten to a pulp by Hungary. Austria sighed and turned his gaze away from the bloody heap of self-proclaimed awesomeness. He felt a light tugging on his hand, and he looked down.

"Mister, mister!" cried the little girl from earlier.

"Hello, Marianne," he smiled down at her.

"Hi! Mister, did you hear me? How was I?" she crowed excitedly.

"You were very good," he said.

He was distracted from her reply by Prussia's cry of pain. Apparently Hungary had whacked him on the head with the frying pan… He sighed and strode over.

"Please refrain from making a mess in the concert hall, Gilbert."

The aforementioned Gilbert grinned. "'m fine!" he protested as Hungary dragged him out. "'m too awesome to not be fine!"

Hungary shook her head and continued dragging him. "I'll bring him to the car, Roderich," she said.

"The concert starts again in six minutes," he replied. She smiled at him before turning around and exiting the building, Gilbert in tow behind her.

He frowned as he scanned the room and noticed a familiar group of blonde haired countries.

"Hey, dude!" the energetic American called.

As he approached them, he saw France trying to molest England again. Poor England… and who was that with them? He looked strangely familiar, from the curl on the head down to the white polar bear in his arms, but Austria couldn't place him. He just couldn't remember his name, or who he was.

"Hello," he said as he approached.

France and England left off their escalating fight as they turned to greet Austria, England with a "Good evening", and France with his usual wink, gust of rose petals, and a creepily spoken "Bonjour~".

"Hello," he heard someone whisper from behind him. It was the stranger whom he couldn't place.

Austria smiled. "And you would be..?"

The stranger looked sadly at him, before replying softly, "I'm Canada!"

"Ah!" Austria suddenly remembered who this look-alike of America's was. Canada! America's often-overlooked northern neighbor who had, according to rumor, a lot of moose, elk, caribou, and snow, the one who everyone forgot, the one who everyone mistook for America. What they were doing in Vienna was a mystery, but then again, he hadn't expected to see Lichtenstein perform in such a manner tonight, either. He made polite conversation with them for a bit, then left them to their own devices.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice as he literally walked into a tall man. He blinked twice when the man put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"Ah, sorry," he apologized to the tall man. He then looked up.

"Oh… er… good evening, um… Mr. Braginski," he said, finally noticing (with an internal cry of terror) that it was, in fact, Russia. Here, with his little entourage: Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia, Ukraine, and even Belarus following him around. Belarus was here. With Russia.

His brain reeled from the sudden influx of information. Belarus. And she wasn't attacking Russia; she wasn't demanding that he marry her; she was calm and composed. Now _that_ was something you wouldn't see every day.

He was saved from Russia's intense violet gaze by Hungary's reappearance, this time without a certain noisy albino. She was grinning as if she had enjoyed – he shuddered to think that she would enjoy it, but she would – the beating she had given Prussia. He sighed. Why did she have to be so violent? That was what had led to their split in the beginning… But he didn't want to dwell on the past.

The bell dinged, signifying the end of the ten minute long intermission. He turned and went back in with the rest of the crowd.

After suffering through another three agonizing performances, he finally couldn't take it any longer. They played soulless music, and it was horrible to listen to. Finally, _finally_, the last one stepped off the stage.

"We would like to welcome to our humble stage Mr. Roderich Edelstein!"

Applause and a few cheers, probably from the small group of countries gathered in one corner of the hall. Austria climbed up the steps to the stage, hands shaking slightly in nervous anticipation.

He sat at the piano bench. _Calm, Roderich, you've done this only about a few thousand times before._ He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He could feel the anticipation of the crowd, the heat of the lights on his skin, his own anxiety…

He willed it all away, and imagined himself in his own house, at his piano.

He placed a hand down, slender fingers poised, waiting.

His index finger pressed one key. The note rang out pure and true.

He couldn't remember much more after that, except for the thunderous applause he received when he bowed at the end of his performance. His friends' (and not so friends') warm smiles, the admiring stares he received from the younger performers and most of all, the gladness that shone through the eyes of the audience.

He smiled.

After all, this is what he was best at.


End file.
